Sweet Walter
by wjobsessed
Summary: Who knows what really goes on in Walter's head? Rated "T" for suggestive P/O content.


**Just a silly Walter PWP I came up with. Herrell's is a real Boston-based company, and no, I have no connection with them.**

**I have no connection with Fringe either, and own nothing of theirs. I have to say I enjoyed writing from Walter's perspective, hmm.**

**Unbetaed. All mistakes are mine.**

**What really goes on in Walter's head?**

Sweet Walter

It was quiet this early morning for a change. But that was fine with Walter-it gave him a chance to concentrate on his plan. He had been noticing that his Herrell's Peppermint Hot Fudge sauce had been disappearing at a steady clip. It was down to an all-week low this morning as he made a mini-sundae for his 2 AM repast. He had smiled widely as he watched it slump onto the dish of chocolate chip ice cream.

Thoroughly enjoyable as his late-night snack had been he savored the quiet time in his bed in the dark.

Things had been definitely more fun since their move into the big apartment just three weeks ago.

Walter enjoyed watching his son, Peter, go about life now a little less stressed. But Walter wasn't sure how much of that was from having his own bedroom, and how much was from his almost-nightly rendezvous with Agent Dunham in said bedroom.

It was precious, really, how good he was getting at deceiving the pair. As Walter delicately decreased the doses of his antipsychotics in the last two weeks he had become more lucid than ever. And, to his utter delight, his memory was considerably better as well. But he didn't let them know that. Where the line between sanity and insanity lay, he posited, was in the eye of the beholder. So he let them think he was the same old Walter. Especially at night.

He had figured out from collecting the empirical data over the last three weeks that if he feigned snoring after 11PM he got to hear everything. Ev-ery-thing! Most of the time they tried to be quiet, worrying about him hearing, he'd guessed. But for every action there was an equal and opposite reaction. So, Walter learned, the louder and more frequently he snored after the aforementioned time, the louder and more comfortable they got with their sexual escapades. And the more he got to hear.

And hearing them having fun in bed reminded him of his sexual adventures in his younger days, which never failed to put a huge smile on his face. There were some familiar sounds that tickled him the most, and he waited every night hoping to hear them. Like the sound of metal on metal, which meant she got her handcuffs out for play. Or the sound of a hand smacking naked flesh which, he admired, was always short-lived and well-controlled. But his favorite was the sound of the backboard slamming into the wall when they thought he was sound asleep. Unfortunately that was always quick as he assumed they corrected themselves as to not wake him up. The trick was not grinning at them in their feigned innocence in the lab at Harvard. That. Took. Practice. And Walter was proud that he was getting better all the time.

Walter turned to look at the red numbers of his alarm clock and saw that it was already 3AM.

And suddenly he had an idea. He would make dinner for them and bring it up. Oh, how fun it would be to see their faces! And he would keep his neutral, he knew that he could. With that comforting thought Walter turned to his side and fell into blissful sleep.

Four Days Later

Olivia stacked up the last of the dinner plates and carried them into the kitchen. She set them delicately into the deep kitchen sink and returned to the dining room and sat in the comfortable Chippendale-like chair.

The beep of the microwave sounded and Walter jumped up and ran into the kitchen. Olivia looked over at Peter and they locked eyes. Without taking his eyes from her Peter yelled, "What's for dessert, Walter? Do you need a hand?"

Walter emerged from the kitchen with an ice cream scoop and a half gallon of french vanilla ice cream and set them on the table. "No, Son, don't get up. I'll just be a minute." And he ran back into the kitchen.

Carefully Walter took the plate with the peppermint hot fudge jar out of the microwave oven. He set it on the counter as he got himself under control. _It's showtime,_ he thought to himself. He took a deep breath and carried the plate out into the dining room.

Very nonchalantly Walter set the plate with the jar of Herrell's Peppermint Hot Fudge sauce on the table. "I thought you'd enjoy some hot fudge sundaes, my dears." Carefully, Walter lifted the jar with a hot pad and studied the inside of it. "Oh, dear. It seems we are almost out of hot fudge. Sorry about that. I don't remember using this much. Well, I'll just have to buy some more." He averted his eyes and trained them on his dinner guests, who were staring at each other, blushing. _Bingo! _he said in his head. Then Walter did the proper thing in ignoring them and putting the jar back down on the plate. He proceeded to scoop ice cream into the three bowls.

Later That Night

Peter Bishop lay in his bed watching as his beautiful lover raised the spoon an inch above a spot on his left thigh and inverted it. Olivia watched as a dollop of hot fudge dropped onto his skin. "Do you think we should use less tonight?"

"Nah, don't worry about it. He said he'd go buy some more...remember? Ohhhh....." Peter moaned as she proceeded to lick the spot.

The End

**I would love you to review, but no flames, please.**


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